With a sense of wonder Linda asked, “Is that my T-shirt?”

“Yes. I didn’t know where to send it.”

“And so you wore it?”

“Not until last night. Please. Shower?” Marissa let the curtain fall back into place.

Linda retreated and closed the door, relieved the knob would at least function. She’d have to replace the lock.

Grinning broadly, Linda whispered aloud, “She’s wearing my T-shirt.” The idea was both comforting and incredibly intimate. Go slow, she told herself. Slow.

She finished the dishes and then took her time surveying Marissa’s apartment. It was clear that the large number of boxes, labeled with dates going back six years, were the early years of the company. She hadn’t had a reason to take them to the office, probably. The apartment had only the one small bedroom, so the living room was further crowded with a computer workstation which was reached only after a stack of boxes was moved. It was the room of someone who had not given much time to more than its functionality of providing warmth, light and shelter. She wondered if Marissa could like the wide open spaces of Montana. Would she really enjoy trekking through mud and heat to see a flower that bloomed for a day once a decade?

“I’m not a slob, really. I’m just short on space.”

Turning, Linda tried not to show that breathing was suddenly very difficult. Marissa’s robe was not belted as tightly as before, and with her hair damp around her shoulders she looked much like the water nymph of Tahiti. “I understand.”

“I really am going to buy a condo—it’s a good investment and I’ll have more space. Those boxes will finally get out of my life.” She limped in the direction of the bedroom, leaving wet patches where her bandage touched the carpet.

“Do you need that retied?”

“I was hoping to preserve the fun ribbons, but now that it’s wet I’m not sure it was a good idea.” Marissa continued into the bedroom and Linda followed, not sure what Marissa expected.

Marissa was seated on the unmade bed, tugging at the outermost ribbon.

“Let me,” Linda said, and without thinking she slid to her knees at Marissa’s feet.

Marissa drew in a sharp breath and Linda looked up. Such an expressive face, Linda marveled. She’s scared. She wants me to touch her. She doesn’t want to want me. She’s remembering that night, the next morning.

“Please,” Marissa whispered.

Her hesitation was momentary then Linda carefully acknowledged what was happening. She was not afraid. She did not want to control the moment, she wanted to live in it. Marissa was everything Linda remembered of her—and more.

She leaned forward to softly kiss the inside of Marissa’s knee.

Marissa was breathing hard. “Linda . . .”

“What is it? What do you want me to do? I’ll do it.” Linda inhaled the wonderful scent that meant Marissa and closed her eyes with a sense of awe.

“Hold me,” Marissa whispered. “I’m frightened.”